


an east swell coming

by crackers4jenn



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackers4jenn/pseuds/crackers4jenn
Summary: For all Rhett knows, he's agreed to elope in Vegas, wedded to his best friend amidst the glow of neon lights, shrimp cocktails, and Elvis impersonators.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I am Jennifer and I like the 'I'm dead' move.
> 
> This is an AU that borrows heavily from canon, but there's no wives or Good Mythical Morning. Just two regular dudes with the same history.
> 
> Written for Tropetastic Tuesday #6: [Pretending to be a couple/fake married.](https://thegreyhenley.tumblr.com/post/159445981809/tropetastic-tuesday-6)

Rhett's halfway through a perfectly acceptable documentary on wood carving, and no, that is not a euphemism, when Link enters their shared apartment with a paranoia better suited for conspiracy theorists, looking through the peephole like he's been tailed.

"It happened again."

Rhett's a guy with a lot of jokes, so he says, "You leave the house with peanut butter on your face?" Truth is, that's happened so often, at this point it's habitual.

Link moves away from the door and heads straight for the couch, joining Rhett. He sinks onto it tiredly, his work pants rustling audibly during the collapse, while Rhett pauses Netflix. "No. Okay, yes, shut up, but I'm talking about--" Lowering his voice, he says, with meaning, " _Randy._ "

Ah. Randy.

That's their neighbor who lives across the hall and one apartment over, who has this weird, disturbing thing for Link that pretty much leads to constant ogling and, more than once, actual flirting.

One time he asked Link out to the Golden Corral. So.

That's happening.

It's the most hilarious thing going for Rhett right now, but he's also considered the idea he might have to step in and intervene, to redirect Randy's feelings. You know, as best friends do. Link isn't gay. No one in their apartment is gay, except Larry, the communal house cactus, and there ain't a thing wrong with that.

"I'm serious, I think he likes me. _Like_ -like."

Rhett snorts.

Link whines, "Can you be more helpful about this, please? Because--" He imitates Rhett's snort, just this side of mean, "--isn't doin' anything."

"What? You want me to beat him up for you? I will."

"Okay." Link gets to his feet, looking down at him with that flesh 'stache he likes to brag about prominently formed, which is a fair enough warning he's getting ticked. "You're gonna be a jackass about it."

"Oh, I'll defend your honor. I'll tell him you're too _dainty_ to do it yourself."

Link lashes out, kicking at him in retaliation. His foot swipes Rhett's left shin like a guided missile.

" _Ow._ Watch it, you jerk, you're wearing shoes."

Link mimics him, and then kicks again, but knowing someone for twenty years means Rhett sees that move coming a hundred miles away -- he lunges for Link before Link can hit him a second time, roughly dragging him down to his level.

"Rhett, dangit," Link grunts as he's being tackled to the couch.

In a move so awesome Rhett is for sure going to boast about it later, he twists and has Link pinned to the cushions beneath him, trapped face-up under all 210-pounds of Rhett's body weight. Link struggles, as he always does, but Rhett quickly secures the dominant position by straddling him, which means wedging one of his knees between Link and the couch.

"Ha, puny mortal," he crows in victory. "Winner!"

Link wiggles his hips to try and gain some leeway. All it does is burrow him in further, like quicksand. "You're a _giant_ ," he accuses heatedly.

"You're a shrimp," Rhett throws right back.

"I'm-- _dangit_ \--six foot."

"Of shrimp."

As much as he's able to, Link bucks up, and it redistributes Rhett's center of balance like he's on one of them mechanical bull rides that's been fed one too many quarters. It almost works in sliding him off -- he has to drop forward all of a sudden and clutch at the arm of the couch right above Link's head -- but he remains triumphantly on top.

And, he realizes pretty quickly, much, much closer to Link than the moment before. They're chest to chest, and the way Rhett's fallen over him and how his face is automatically turned away to the side to keep things from being indecent (slash awkward,) it has Link's breath hitting him squarely in the neck, warm and wet like it's his mouth he's feeling.

Link goes limp, letting Rhett press him down into the cushions. "You weigh like a million pounds, man," wheezes out of him like it's all he's capable of, squished as he is.

Focusing on the insult rather than the way the hot puffs of Link's words send weird signals to his brain that make him think he might want to turn his head some just to see if that breath feels as hot on his mouth as it does on his skin (that thought travels so fast through his head, he barely knows he had it before it's gone,) he gives up all pretense this is a fair match and drops 100% of his body onto Link.

"I'm dead."

Link's glasses poke at Rhett's cheek, plastic and pointy. For all he knows he's messing them up, maybe even ruining them, but Rhett's a man dedicated to his signature move.

Muffled, Link says, " _Lemme up_ ," and tries, so futilely, to free one of his arms, then his legs.

Rhett's face is smushed against the back cushion of the couch. It's not comfortable. He's smelling what he hopes is just an old McDonald's nugget, lost to time and laziness, but could be something that just holed up and died one day. Doesn't even matter.

"I'm dead."

Rhett feels Link's chest sag as he exhales his frustration that turns straight into resignation.

Twenty years of friendship, people. Link knows Rhett just as well as Rhett knows him. The only way to escape the I'm Dead move is to wait it out.

"Hey," Link says conversationally after a few seconds, sounding strained. "I got an idea."

Trapped as Link is, it's hard for Rhett to hear him, and weird too. The rumble as he speaks travels from Link to Rhett, making it tickle, kind of. It reverberates in a way Rhett's mind picks at analytically, thinking of contracting vocal cords and a pair of lungs deflating.

"With Randy," Link clarifies.

Rhett's dead, so he doesn't speak.

"This is stupid. I mean, it is _stupid_. But." There's a long pause. Link shifts. It's probably because one of Rhett's knees is jabbing into his side and he's already so bony, but instead of moving that knee out of the way, all the shifting does it make it so Rhett's legs widen on top of him. Avoiding crotch-on-crotch contact is impossible now.

Rhett's animal brain registers the new resistance, gives instinctively into the urge to thrust, and then just as readily reminds him this is his best friend beneath him and probably he shouldn't be humping him, especially when all he's down to is a pair of post-work basketball shorts that aren't separating much. Embarrassment rolls through him hotly.

Link doesn't seem to notice, though, or if he does, he's flying right past it. He's saying, "--it'd be like a _pretend thing_ ," and Rhett deduces his momentary lapse of all things sane had him missing half of whatever Link had said.

Rather than own up to the distraction, both out loud and inside his own brain because god knows the trauma that acknowledgement could provoke, he keeps his mouth shut.

Link squirms again.

"Rhett?"

"Yep," he says automatically, feeling flustered anew.

There's a pause, and then Link says, "Okay?" almost like he's confirming.

To what, Rhett should probably know, because Link is making it seem like Rhett has agreed to hand over: a million bucks, his bedroom that's bigger by at least the span of his own arms and his arms at this point in his life are freaking long, and the secret location of his spray-cheese-and-crackers stash.

Rhett pulls back slowly, straightening his arms out. It's like they're velcroed together; there's a literal unpeeling, partially from the sweat that's started to bead because of all the body heat, even though they're both wearing shirts.

Rhett asks him, "Did I just agree to something stupid?"

Link flashes a big, brilliant smile, glasses askew and a smudge on the lens. "Yup."

Surrendering finally, Rhett climbs off Link long enough for Link to swing his legs onto the floor and sit up. He's out of breath by the end of it, letting his limbs go loose like all that lying under Rhett like a chump exhausted him. He sags against the cushions behind them, comfortably lazy. That's a good idea. Rhett copies him.

After a round of silence that's broken only by their mutual winded breathing, Link asks Rhett, "Think he'll buy it?" His head lolls towards him, bangs stuck wetly against his forehead.

"Huh?"

Link reaches out and thwacks him on the arm. Since the age of ten, or thereabout, that's been their way of communicating 'how stupid are you?' It also occasionally means 'hey, check out that hot girl' and 'dude, the Big Macs are on sale again.' Rhett's plenty fluent in them, so this one he knows is the 'you hit your head again, dummy?' version.

"Randy, who else," Link says. He doesn't seem too worried that Rhett's operating on single digit brain cells here. He blusters on, "I mean, all we gotta do is maybe hold hands or something, and I think he'll figure out the rest himself, I hope, 'cause I am _not_ doing anything else--" He stops himself to laugh, and even though Rhett's brain is experiencing that crisis he'd been trying to avoid earlier, he can still hear how forced and awkward Link suddenly sounds. Which makes sense, if Link's hearing what Rhett's hearing.

They hold eye contact for a long, weird beat, saying nothing but speaking volumes. Then Link gets to his feet so suddenly it's almost like a giant invisible hand reached out of the ceiling and grabbed him.

He looks down at Rhett, who's clearly experiencing some kind of prolonged mental collapse. Gone is any indication that Link ever felt uncomfortable, but his tone when he speaks again implies Rhett's acting strange and, for his own sanity, he's going to ignore it.

Gesturing toward their shared kitchen, he says, "I'mma snack. You want anything?"

Very slowly, Rhett looks up and meets Link's gaze. Some concern passes telepathically, but nothing is vocalized. In the end, Rhett settles for an, "I'm good," and lets Link wander off without another word.

Eventually he realizes the remote control that'd been lost during his and Link's wrestling is digging into his butt cheek. That's probably a metaphor for something.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

" _Hey--freaking--wait up, man_ ," Link hisses at him the next morning as they're leaving.

Rhett stops and gives him his attention, a little impatiently. Link's trying to lock their door, only the key always sticks, which means waiting around for Link to wiggle it free. So far they haven't figured out a hack to fix it, but Rhett's betting, if all else fails, straight up taking a flamethrower to it in a fit of masculine rage will do.

Once Link manages to pull his key out, with a quiet victory yelp, he jogs down to Rhett. He tells him lowly, "You never know if you-know-who is watching."

Rhett feels Link's hand slide into his.

For eight entire seconds his brain whites out, like that image of a nuclear bomb going off. It's crazy.

He doesn't even get the chance to cycle through his entire range of emotions; barely thirty seconds later they reach the end of the hall and as soon as they get there, Link lets go to stroll solo down the stairs, taking each step two at a time like he always freaking does never mind the fact he's a giant klutz and it's only a matter of luck before he falls and busts himself up.

At the bottom, Link's waiting for him.

"You think he saw?" he asks Rhett.

"Randy?"

"What're the chances he was starin' out his peephole? Pretty big, you think?"

Rhett can't help but snort a little. Honestly, odds are Randy had been waiting to pounce. For the last three months, it seems like anytime Link entered or exited their apartment alone, Randy was there, coincidentally about to leave himself.

In the last two weeks, those coincidences have started to involve propositions for coffee or drinks.

"Sure, Link," Rhett placates him. They push through the double doors of their apartment building, heading for the coffee shop downtown for some pre-work caffeine. "Come to think of it, I could hear him."

Link gives him a look; doubtful but interested.

"Seriously?"

Rhett starts moaning, "Link, oh _Link_ , oh, _baby_ ," in an exaggerated version of his bedroom voice, mimicking many'a porno.

With a glare, Link pushes him, almost into a trash can. Rhett full-on belly laughs while Link says, "You're so gross. I'mma tell your mom you did that next time I talk to her."

The threat sobers him up _fast_.

"Hey, man, don't bring my mom into this."

"Don't make that voice, then, at least not where I can hear it. I don't need to know what you sound like when you're _keeping busy_."

"'Keeping busy,'" Rhett repeats with a snort. This is the person he's chosen to call his best friend, everybody. The guy who says _keeping busy_ as innuendo for sex. "Dude, that's what we called it in sixth grade, you dweeb."

"Yeah, well, that's what we called each other in _fifth_ grade, you even bigger dweeb."

"No wonder you can't get any girls. 'Keeping busy.' You say that while you're mid-act?"

"Do we have to talk about this? You know, just one time I'd like to say something stupid, and you let it fly."

"Not a chance."

"I'mma keep busy tonight, with YO' FACE!"

Link pounces at him, trying to wrap around him in his go-to immobilization move, but considering the full seven inches of height Rhett has over him, all that happens is Rhett staggers a step before carrying forward with Link hanging on like a barnacle.

"Dang it," Link whines, admitting defeat and letting go quickly. "I ever tell you how much I hate that growth spurt you had--what year was that? Second grade?"

"I was born tall, baby."

"Born something, alright," Link mutters under his breath.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

Rhett's fingers are bouncing off the table top; a give, if anyone was paying attention, that he's a man with a lot on his mind.

Usually they don't have time to stop and sip. Usually their morning coffee runs include actual running, because most times they're late to work.

Link looks over at him while he's adding more sugar into his already sugared up drink. "Coffee hitting already? Dang."

When Rhett doesn't catch on, Link's raised eyebrows shoot directional arrows at Rhett's hand. He laughs when Rhett stops, now that he's caught.

"Man, worry about yourself."

Link flares his eyes teasingly. "Who says I'm worried?" Rhett doesn't take the bait, and it throws Link off. He sets the sugar down and goes for the creamer, still trying to figure Rhett out. "You got a meeting or something? Want me to call in a family emergency for you? 'Yes, hello, sir,'" he imitates, sounding smarmy. "'This is Rhett McLaughlin's cool, younger uncle. The handsome gene stopped with me. Uh, my _wife_ died--'"

Rhett smacks Link's shoulder with the side of his hand. It makes him spill some of that creamer he'd been abusing his coffee with, but that just causes another small laugh.

"Do _not_ do that," Rhett tells Link. He's using his or-else-face-the-consequences-of-my-mood voice, too, so Link's got fair warning here.

Link sets the creamer down, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the spillage. "Well, _what_ then?" His eyes flick up to Rhett's for a few seconds. That's all it takes for him to get it. "This about earlier?"

Can't a guy experience an existential crisis in peace without having to talk about it? Dang.

"You wanna stop already?" Link presses.

That's the thing -- he doesn't even know what they would be stopping because he barely heard what they were starting. For all he knows, he's agreed to elope in Vegas, wedded to his best friend amidst the glow of neon lights, shrimp cocktails, and Elvis impersonators.

Huddling with both elbows on the table, something his mama sure as anything would thwack him across the back of his head about, Rhett leans in, keeping his voice lowered for privacy.

"What're we doing here?"

Link's always been good at pretending ignorance. He says, "Fuelin'," with his Southern accent purposely twanging. "Fuelin' on coffee."

"We supposed to be--" It's impossible, all of a sudden, for Rhett to say what he realizes his brain's been trying to catch up on.

Link fills it in, anyway.

"Two friends doin' one friend a favor?"

That's what he wants to call this? A favor?

"You could'a said something last night if it was gonna be too _weird_ for you," Link lets him know, pulling away from their closeness to stare out the coffee shop window beside them.

"I'm not--" With some effort, Rhett kills his first urge to argue his defense. That's not going to get them anywhere besides a fight. He taps his knuckles on the table top near Link's to get his attention. "Hey. I want guidelines, man."

Link hesitantly meets his eyes again. After a moment of sussing out Rhett's intentions, he's drawn back in.

Rhett continues, "Just spell out what we're doing here, exactly."

"I _told_ you yesterday--"

"Yeah, I'm not askin' about what you said, I wanna know what we're doing, now. Today, and the day after--however long this is going."

Link shifts around a little, fidgeting. "I don't got a time frame. We can stop anytime you want."

"Again, I'm not asking that."

"Well, geez, Rhett. This ain't exactly easy for me either, y'know. Your hands sweat," Link accuses hotly.

Rhett ignores the insult -- same one he's heard half his freaking life, practically -- and focuses instead on what Link's really saying. "So, holding hands. You want to hold hands."

"I don't _want_ to," Link argues right away, shifting once more. "It's the plan."

"What else? That's it, that's the whole thing? We hold hands outside Randy's apartment--nothing more?"

"Yeah, we suck face, too. Wet, and lots of tongue. Of course that's _it_ , Rhett, I'm not tryin' to make this weird. I just want Randy off my back a while. I think if he sees you and me--" That turns into an awkward pause he rushes past, "--I think he'll ease up some."

Rhett thinks that over a moment. He's not an expert on the logic of it. He can't say whether Link's got a good idea here or not, but he knows Link wouldn't have proposed it if he wasn't feeling backed into a corner, and Rhett's never been the type of person to let his best friend down when he's asking for help, especially when that best friend is Link.

Leaning back in his seat so he can comfortably recline, he takes a sip of coffee and makes his decision.

"Okay," he says over the rim of the mug.

Link's eyebrows crawl straight into his hairline. His eyes narrow skeptically. "Okay?"

Rhett takes another sip. "Yup."

"Okay," Link agrees, smiling.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

For about a week, their day plays out similarly:

Rhett and Link leave their apartment together. Link reaches for his hand, holding it until they arrive at the stairwell. And then on their day continues, normal as ever.

It starts to become so routine and Pavlovian that, by that second week, as soon as Link manages to lock the door, Rhett's the one doing the grabbing.

He falters as soon as he realizes it, but there's no time to process things because for the first time the door to Randy's apartment swings open as they pass. He steps out right as they're walking by.

"S'up, Randy," Link greets him, sounding overly laid-back, which Rhett reacts to with a judgmental face that's beyond his control.

"Link, hey, what's up, man? Hey, Bret."

Rhett says, "...hey," and lets himself be led down the hall by Link.

"See ya later, man," Link says. Randy gives him a nod as he hangs back to lock his door. Which, by the way, never sticks. Go figure.

Link pulls Rhett a little faster, into the stairwell.

"You see that?" he asks Rhett, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard, but it's full of excitement, bouncing off the concrete corridor walls.

"Yeah, dude called me Bret. What a jerk."

Link pushes open the outside door, letting Rhett go through first.

"Dude, he saw," Link exclaims as they keep walking. "His eyes went _whoooop_ \--" That's his zeroing-in noise. "Freaking lasered in on us holding hands! Didn't even stop to ask me if I wanted to buffet it up with him. I knew it. See, didn't I tell you this'd be a good plan?"

Rhett swings their joined hands up to eye level. Link's, anyway. "We still in the middle of that plan?"

Link pulls his hand clean out of Rhett's, surgically smooth and lightning fast. His face, however, turns the most interesting shade of red and he makes strong eye contact with the middle distance ahead of them.

"Whatever. Shut up. Don't try to _weird up_ my victory right now."

It isn't unusual for Rhett to feel swellings of fondness for Link. The guy has a habit of being adorable. Sue him for noticing. But right now, he feels one of those swells so fully, it literally manifests as a physical, aching pain in his chest, kind of like heartburn.

He's comparing his best friend to acid reflux. What is wrong with him.

Link sees his grimace and switches over instantly into care mode, jumping to his own conclusions. "Hey. If you're really that worried Randy'll think you're gay, we can stop. I know how you like everyone to know how aggressively heterosexual you are."

That isn't true, but it isn't exactly untrue either. Rhett, in his day, has dated a few women, and crushed on a lot more than that. It's not that he wants people to know his orientation for the reason of asserting his heterosexuality. More like, he wants people to know to expand his odds. Widen the playing field. That sort of thing.

"I really don't care what Randy thinks. Dude calls me Bret. He can go screw himself."

"Okay."

"And don't be hating on my heterosexuality, now. Just because I've dated more girls than you--"

"By _one_ , and that's only because in second grade you held hands with what's-her-name during recess--"

"It counted! It counted."

"You can't even remember her name."

"So? Still counts. First girl I ever dream-Frenched, too."

Link rolls his eyes. "You got a problem."

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

**From: Link | 10:13 am**  
Guess who just texted me? I'll give you a hint: Slang for horny

 **From: Link | 10:15 am**  
Never mind don't answer that text is too incriminating.. I'll tell you about it later in person. Get pizza!!

 **From: Rhett | 12:03 pm**  
Hey you want the cheese ball crust?

 **From: Link | 12:05 pm**  
Yes now be quiet please i gotta work

 **From: Rhett | 12:05 pm**  
You texted me first

 **From: Rhett | 12:05 pm**  
;)

 **From: Link | 12:06 pm**  
What does that even mean? You're such a dork.. I'm turning my phone off

 **From: Rhett | 12:06 pm**  
:)

 **From: Rhett | 12:06 pm**  
8^)

 **From: Rhett | 12:07 pm**  
:9

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

"God, I hate spreadsheets," Link says -- the very first thing that's out of his mouth before the door has even been closed all the way behind him. "Remind me to stay on the quote-unquote Good Side, 'cause that's what Hell must be full of. Just, endless spreadsheets, and car alarms that never stop goin' off and, like-- _tomatoes_ ," Link shudders.

Rhett's in the kitchen pretending he hadn't been picking toppings off the pizza until he heard a grip on the doorknob.

Joining him after he dumps his keys and wallet on the side table near the door, Link goes straight for the fridge as Rhett pulls out a couple of paper plates. Link grabs a beer, pops the twist cap off, and takes a long swig before handing it over to Rhett and grabbing a new beer for himself.

Rhett watches this with a smile, small and sincere and genuinely amused.

"What happened this morning?" he asks. "Why the dodgy text?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Link saddles up beside him, so close that his elbow jostles into Rhett's side as he tears apart three slices of pizza. He steps away just as quickly, turning to their tiny kitchen table. They got it at a thrift store two years ago, fresh out of college and moving out of their shared dorm room and into a shared apartment together. It was their first adult purchase, before a couch and individual mattresses even. There's a pile of sports magazines under one of its legs, which has been rigged to prevent the whole thing from wobbling. It does so now as Link plops onto the closest of the three chairs they own. Also thrift store buys, and not even a matching set.

"Randy," Link says through a bite he doesn't even try to be polite about. Crumbs spray, right as Rhett's sitting down across from him. "He texted me."

Rhett wipes the specks away from his plate. "Yeah, you said that already this morning. What'd he want?"

Through another mouthful, Link says, "A date."

Rhett makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and sympathy. "Sorry, man."

"I mean, in my mind, he'd see us holding hands and just assume, Link Neal: off the market. I think it might've made me a hotter commodity."

Rhett snorts. " _Okay_. Nice, healthy ego you got yourself there, Neal."

"I'm serious. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

With the pizza slice halfway to his mouth, Rhett stops and pauses.

"Hold up. You mean."

"Oh, I mean."

Rhett's brain is trying hard to connect the dots but the math ain't adding up.

"Randy asked you out--"

"And I said yes. I had to! I kept blowin' him off, but then he asked what was going on with you and me and I couldn't lie. Every time I tried to, it felt weird, you know, like ' _Rhett and me are dating_.' WEIRD. I couldn't do it. What do you think? Are you mad?"

Mad. That word pings at something inside him. Why would he be mad? He feels offended and he doesn't even know why.

"I'm not _mad_. Why would I--?"

"I mean, it's me going on a date with another guy."

Link lets that hang there between them, and again Rhett's brain struggles to interpret what Link's really asking him here.

Link adds, softly, "Are you grossed out?" and that clears things up for him pretty freaking quickly.

Link's being serious here. Randy's a creep, but Link's really going to go out with him, like on an actual date, and he's not freaked out by that which means he's probably considered something like it before which means holy crap Link is --

Rhett puts down his pizza slice with a calmness that feels outside of himself. Like he's having an out-of-body experience.

Link's gay.

Link is gay.

Or, bisexual, whatever.

"Rhett?" Link's started to look genuinely worried that Rhett's going to have the kind of stereotypical reaction expected of men in the South. Like Rhett's going to flip the table or punch him in the face.

That sends something sour right through him, starting in his stomach and traveling up his throat, leaving an acidic taste in his mouth.

"You hit your head?" he demands once his voice cooperates. "Why would I ever be mad or grossed out over something like that, Link? C'mon. You know me."

"I know, it's just." Link drops his gaze and starts picking at his pizza crust. "It's not like we ever talked about anything like... that. It's weird."

"Like hell it is. It's not weird. Link, you're my freaking best friend. I don't care about anything else."

Slowly, Link meets his eyes again, looking worried. "You mean it?"

"I'm not gonna ask you how your night went after, but, yeah, I mean it. I swear."

A small smile breaks out across Link's face. It's like watching all the tension ease out of him. He hesitates, as if he's still unsure of where they stand right now, but soon enough he goes back to eating his pizza.

Rhett, too, takes a bite, his eyes on Link the whole time, trying to absorb this new information. He didn't think there were things about Link he didn't know, not after being such close friends for so long, but it turns out there was something really freaking important he'd been missing this whole time.

He takes a sip of beer to swallow his bite down and asks, after a pause, "How long have you... you know... known?"

Link lifts his shoulder up in a little shrug. He drops his pizza to his plate and wipes his hand on a paper towel that'd been left on the table from a different meal. "I don't even know if I know now. It just hit me, I'm not repulsed by the idea of being on a date with a man. So I thought I oughta explore that. See where it takes me."

Okay. Rhett can sort of see that rationality there, if he squints. He's never felt anything similar, but it's some sound logic. He had a few friends in college who experimented sexually. Matter of fact, he's been at parties before where all of a sudden, a few beers in and some pulls of a joint later, guys started making out with each other right beside him just because they could.

But figuring this out with _Randy_ as the test subject? Their neighbor with hair down to his freaking back? Who at all times appeared to be in a state of pre-ejaculation? That just seems wrong.

"You sure Randy's the guy for you to do that with though? He's a weasel."

Link thinks that over, no doubt recalling their typical encounter.

"I'm not gonna make out with him, if that's what you mean. I'm not thinking like that."

Rhett can't help but immediately conjure up a visual of Link and Randy going at in the hall, pressed up naked against Randy's front door.

That sour feeling comes back with a vengeance, wiping out his appetite completely.

Link tells him, "I just want to see what a date feels like. You know. Will I be thinking of it as a date? Will other people? Will I like it? Is it gonna be the same as a first date with a woman?"

Rhett's nodding his head. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

"And Randy asked, so."

So.

"When's the date?" Rhett asks, the words out of his mouth before he realizes he even thought it.

"Tomorrow. We're just going to Benny's."

The bar down the street that him and Link frequent so often, Rhett's googled before how long it takes to develop liver disease. That's their place.

Silence settles once more.

Link breaks it, standing up suddenly. "I'm gonna shower." He waits like Rhett's supposed to say something here -- ' _hey, congrats on being gay, buddy_ ' or maybe ' _it gets better_ ' -- whatever the hell the cliche line is -- but Rhett's brain is void of almost all thought, the only thing he's capable of maintaining is eye contact and even that feels strained.

"Right," Link says, leaving.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

Later that night, there's a knock on Rhett's bedroom door.

"Hey. You dressed?"

Rhett's in bed for the night, but he's wearing boxers, so he's as good as clothed. "What's up?"

Link opens the door and slowly pokes his head in. He's down to his boxers too, and a t-shirt.

"Hey."

"Hey," Rhett says back. He sets his phone down, ignoring the text he was in the middle of writing to his friend-from-back-home, Jessie.

Link comes all the way in, but he hangs out near the doorway, hovering awkwardly.

"What?" Rhett prompts him.

"Never mind. Forget it."

Rhett getting out of bed stops Link from leaving.

"What, Link?"

Slowly, like it's either painfully embarrassing or just painful in general, Link turns back to Rhett, grimacing. "I'm bein' stupid."

"You usually are," Rhett agrees to lighten the mood. It works, though. Link's face flattens out into something unimpressed and familiar.

"Ha. Jerkwad."

Rhett waits out the moment with a soft smile, sitting back on the edge of his bed.

"I'm being dumb," Link says again with a sigh. "I didn't wanna go to bed if things were all messed up between us. I told you it was dumb," he tacks on quickly like he doesn't want to be an accomplice to his own annoying thoughts.

"Link, nothing's messed up. Everything's the same as it was yesterday, except now I know you wanna suck Randy's di--"

Link's rushing at him before he has time to finish, swiping Rhett's pillow off the bed and using it to push him onto his back and smother him.

It's hard to breathe, but Rhett's laughing, instinctively drawing his knees up, and Link's standing right there between his spread legs, careful to not press down too hard lest he genuinely suffocates him, saying, " _You're_ the dick, Rhett." Rhett's shaking with how hard he's cracking up, grabbing both of Link's wrists to hold onto.

Guaranteeing a sore back tomorrow, Rhett uses all the strength he has in him to trap Link between his legs and do a crocodile roll, toppling Link onto the bed beside him. Rhett doesn't let up a second now that he's gained the advantage -- he climbs on top of Link so quick, the pillow and one of Link's hands gets stuck between them.

Rhett flings the pillow aside and uses the grip he still has on Link's wrist to pin Link's hands to the mattress above his head.

"Ha," he crows. He can feel how clammy his own hands are, how warm his face is from all the exertion. Probably his eyes are bugging out the way they always do whenever he gets crazy about something. Dipping forward, he goes into wrestler-voice, "You mess with Shahbaz, you get DESTROYED!"

"Alright, alright, geez," Link huffs out like he's trying not to laugh. "You brush your teeth yet, 'cause _dang_ , brother, your breath _reeks_ \--"

Rhett lets go of one hand to dig his fingers into Link's side, tickling him, and it shuts Link up quick, his whole body flailing in resistance.

"Stop, stop," he laughs, "I give up!"

Rhett eases up, only because the move is an illegal one. No respectable wrestler tickles.

"You're so easy, man," he gloats anyway.

"Get off me already."

Rhett uses his free hand to pat Link's cheek a few patronizing times before moving off. He doesn't go very far; just rolls over and flops down beside Link, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed too.

"Still feel dumb?" he asks after a beat. "Aside from me kicking your ass, I mean."

"Dude, you didn't 'kick my ass,' you freaking _tickled_ me. That's playing dirty and you know it. We banned the move when we were twelve for a reason."

"You wanna go again?" Rhett says to him, jokingly riled up. Link laughs and reaches out an arm to stop Rhett from rolling back on top of him.

"Gosh, no. I submit."

Rhett flattens back down, smiling the whole way. "Say I'm the winner."

"No way."

"C'mon, one time. Say it. 'Rhett's the winner.' Say I'm _the man_."

Instead of giving Rhett what he wants, Link pushes himself up by his elbows, sitting up the rest of the way. He pats Rhett on the thigh and stands. "I'mma go before you get weirder."

Rhett sits up as Link starts walking away. "One time, man! Just say it."

Link only shoots him a look that says, instead, 'your kink is showing and I want nothing to do with it.'

"Hey," Rhett says to stop him before he goes. Link waits in the doorway, turning to give Rhett his attention. He has every intention of clearing the air from earlier, of letting Link know without a doubt that he doesn't think any differently of him, if that's what's got him so worried, but he's never been a guy good at expressing his emotions. Blame that on a dad who, god love him, taught him that men shake hands, they don't hug. They sure as hell don't share their feelings.

Link gets to the bottom of what Rhett means to say, anyway, without him having to put it into words. He gives Rhett a grateful nod, then a smile, and when Rhett returns it, he dips his head and backs away, closing the door behind him.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

The next morning, Link can't sit still. His leg is jostling under the table. Three times now he's accidentally knocked his knee into Rhett's. The fourth time he nearly sends the whole table skidding off its magazine prosthetic.

"Relax," Rhett tells him, probably a little more forcefully than the moment calls for, but Link's leaking nervous energy all over the place. He's getting secondhand stressed.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Link gives back just as tersely.

They go back to silently eating breakfast, except now there's an obvious aggression between them.

Link's the first to let out a sigh.

"I got that thing today," he says, faltering, "with Randy." He lets that hang there until all the gravitas it could possibly have is soaked up and practically turned palpable. "I'm nervous. I'm sorry I hit you with my leg."

"It was an accident."

Link gives him a look that says ' _not the second, third, or fourth time, buddy._ '

Rhett shakes his head at him, cracking a smile. "Punk."

"Ugh," Link says, pushing his bowl of cereal away. "I can't even eat right now. How sad is that? Like I'm fifteen years old or something. I got butterflies."

Rhett takes all of that in with an open, serene mind, like he's checked into a nice Malibu rehab facility and the drug regiment started early that morning.

Evenly, giving the impression he couldn't care less one way or the other, he's just a guy making conversation here, he asks, "You like him that much?"

Because of the butterflies, he means. Last time Link talked about an upset stomach over a crush, they were in their sophomore year of college and he'd just met Christy. Her and Link dated the whole rest of college, but then Rhett got the job offer that moved him out here to California, and Link came too, obviously, and --

And now Rhett feels guilty about that all over again.

"I don't, that's the crazy thing. It's _Randy_. That ain't changed. But."

When Link trails off, Rhett fills it in. "First date jitters."

They both know what Rhett really means. First date with a guy, ever.

"This is crazy. Tell me I'm crazy."

"I mean. You might be."

"Rhett," Link complains.

"What? You asked. I'm saying--" What is he saying? He doesn't even know. He's talking before he's even done thinking it, that he's definitely aware of. "You're crazy. So what. Embrace it. Make him buy you dinner."

"Heck no. We're doing drinks, that's it. And that's if I can even stomach leaving the house later. What if I chicken out?"

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Why's it gotta be so complicated? Why can't I just _know_?"

"'Least you're being honest," Rhett tells him, shrugging. "You figured something out about yourself and you're seeing what it means. I'm proud of you."

Link gives Rhett this look like Rhett took to a bent knee to ceremonially pass over his childhood Julio Franco baseball card collection, the most prized and sentimental possession either of them owns. It's such a soft, sappy-looking thing, it turns the moment uncomfortably honest.

"Too bad you're so ugly-lookin', though," Rhett tacks on, just to bring the mood back to normal.

Link scoffs and kicks at him purposely, his bare toes brushing up against Rhett's ankle.

"Hush," he tells him, going for his cereal again.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

They don't hold hands when they leave the apartment.

Well, they do, only because it's so ingrained in them at this point, but it lasts all of ten seconds before Link yanks his hand from Rhett like it'd never been planned in the first place, like Rhett up and decided for himself he wanted to do it. He feels his face heating up, embarrassed for no good reason -- he's been doing Link a _favor_ this whole time, the least the guy can do is act like it.

Link hurries off down the hall, leaving Rhett to deal with the lock, knowing full well it gives him more trouble than it gives Link. By the time he gets the key unstuck, not without a few choice swear words, Link's disappeared down the stairwell.

Randy's door swings open just as Rhett's walked past it.

"Yo," Randy greets him, nodding.

To be cordial, and kind of because he wants to suss the guy out, Rhett stops and gives him a nod right back.

"So," Randy says, leaning his lanky body against the door frame. He's almost as tall as Rhett, giving him an idea of how stupid he'd look if he ever tried the move himself. The guy's not even wearing a shirt. Just one of them Kid Rock-wannabe wifebeaters that makes you think any guy wearing them probably lives up to the name. "Link tell you? 'Bout me n'him?"

Also, Randy has a mullet, Rhett's realizing. Like, he thought the guy just had long hair, but no, that is an actual mullet.

"Yes?" Rhett answers as cryptically as he can make it.

"Cool."

Rhett narrows his eyes.

"We cool?" Randy asks him. "I asked him if you two had a thing. He said no."

"We don't."

"Cool."

"Rhett?" Link calls from down the hall.

Rhett looks over just in time to catch the split second that Link spots Randy; his whole face goes from perturbed to embarrassed real freaking quick.

"Oh. Hey. Randy. Hi."

"Hey," Randy says smoothly, slipping out of his doorway.

Rhett can see the intent in his creepy eyes; intervening, he strides toward Link, clapping him on the shoulder as he goes.

"We're gonna be late, dude," he tells him, tugging a little. Link's forced to follow.

"I'll talk to you later," Link calls down the hall to Randy, and then to Rhett, as they hit the staircase, he hisses, "What the hell, Rhett? What was that?"

"Nothin'. Just your man sayin' hi."

Link rushes past Rhett so he can cut him off.

"He's not my 'man,' first of all, you jackass. And what's that supposed to mean anyway?"

Rhett gives him a big smile, using the sheer size and bulk of his body to push his way past. Four more steps and he's reached the landing, Link hot on his heels.

They exit one right after the other, going from light bulb bright to 8:25 A.M. sun's-started-blasting-UV-all-over-the-place blinding.

"Rhett," Link says, wanting to talk, or a rundown of what just occurred, but Rhett's reached his emotional quota for the morning.

"Hey. I'll see you later," he says, cheerful, smacking Link's shoulder while he brushes past.

"We walk the same way, stupid," Link retorts, following.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

They don't make it a habit to eat lunch together.

Rhett lives with the guy; they work in neighboring buildings; he kinda figures they deserve a break from one another, at least once a day. Call it preventive measures.

But today, Link texts him, asking to meet him at Benny's, and even in message form Rhett can sense his distress.

Rhett gets there first and orders a beer to go with his burger and fries, figuring it's almost two, which means it's almost five o'clock in North Carolina time and that's good enough for him.

Link comes in a few minutes after the waitress disappears. It takes him a second to spot Rhett tucked away in a booth in the corner -- not their usual spot, since it turns out their usual spot is taken over by unemployed hipsters during the day -- but as soon as he does, Rhett notices the set of his shoulders go from tense to relieved.

"Hey," Rhett greets him as Link slides into the same side of the booth as him. Briefly, he realizes that two men eating lunch together don't normally do so side-by-side, but him and Link quit thinking about 'normal' in terms of their friendship a long time ago.

"You order already?"

"Got you a burger and fries."

"You make sure to tell 'em--"

"Well-done, and no tomato. Obviously."

"Good."

Rhett pulls out a coaster from in between the napkin dispenser and the wall, and then another, propping them up until they make a tiny tent on the table.

"Anyway," Link says. He lets out a breath and leans his head back against the tall padded cushion behind them, closing his eyes for just a moment. Rhett glances at him, and Link says, "I decided I can't do it."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what Link's talking about. Randy.

Rhett softly claps the tops of the two coasters together, focused on the dull cardboard thud they don't actually make but he swears he can hear. That might just be the rush of blood in his ears. "Hmm."

"But then--is cancelling gonna be more awkward than just going? What if he starts asking questions like, 'why'd you say yes?' 'Is this 'cause of Rhett?'"

Rhett didn't know it until then, but some words? Actually have the power to trigger a mini-heart attack, at least when they're strung together in the order Link just dropped them. ' _Because of Rhett_.' Flustered and distracted, Rhett fumbles the coasters and they topple over like a house of cards, or his cool.

Link asks him, "What do you think I should do? And yes, I realize I'm asking _you_ to be my moral compass. That's how messed up this is."

Well -- that's offensive.

Catching the huffy look Rhett's no doubt giving off, Link smiles at him, sitting up straight. "I _know_ that ain't apple juice in your glass, brother. Don't act like you're some kinda Saint. And anyway, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant--you, and emotions. You kinda like to keep them locked up inside. _Definitely_ don't like talking about them in public."

Uncomfortable with how true that is -- and with how uncomfortable he actually is _because_ it's true -- he picks up the coasters and builds another two-walled structure with them again. "How bad do you wanna cancel?"

Link opens his mouth to answer; Rhett looks over at him and asks, before, "Versus, how bad do you wanna find out what you were talking about last night?"

Vague as it is, that's as much as he's currently able to offer. It's up to Link to figure out what the answer is, and Rhett only hopes he solves that by himself, because the heart attack that'd been induced a minute ago is still a problem and talking about Link and Randy is only making it worse.

When Rhett glances over again, Link's got that faraway look that means he's lost to his own thoughts, which is good. It also means Rhett knows the answer to what Link's been asking; if he has to think about it this long, Rhett already knows what it means.

"Just, how 'bout this," he suggests. He's got Link's attention again. "If it gets too uncomfortable, text me."

Link makes a face that implies Rhett's speaking gibberish. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, man. An S.O.S. You know, a flare? It gets too creepy or whatever, shoot me a text and I'll bail you out."

"That's--" Link stops talking, and starts smiling. "Okay."

Rhett's immediately suspicious of Link's look; still grinning, only it _suggests_ something.

"What?" he demands.

"You watch too many romance movies, man. 'Text me if it's weird.' Alright."

"How is that romantic--"

"Don't get defensive."

"I'm _not_ \--"

"It's cute, Rhett."

"I take it back," Rhett tells him, giving up on the coasters as a means of distraction. "Bail yourself out."

"What should I text you? Single-tear sad-face emoji?"

"I regret knowing you."

"C'mon, I'm f'reals here. Morse code it out? Beep-beep, beep-beep-beep-beep."

Rhett budges into him, trying to slide out of the booth. Link laughs, forced to the side by Rhett's weight.

"Okay!" he says, "Stop, stop. You don't gotta _plow_ me."

"I'll leave," Rhett threatens, eying him seriously.

"I said okay. Yeesh."

Pacified, Rhett settles back, searching for signs that their food is on the way.

A beat passes.

Link starts humming, and then is full-on singing, " _I'll send an S.O.S. to the world_ \--"

Rhett needs a new best friend, for real.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

Rhett's never been a guy too concerned with what his buddy was doing on a date, Link especially.

Well, okay, there was that one time in middle school when Link went out for the very first time with a girl named Leslie; Rhett spent all of that evening, well into curfew, wondering what was going on and if anyone was making a move and _who_ , but that's because Leslie was _his_ first girlfriend too. You can't blame a guy for wondering how he stacked up against his friend.

A little bit, too, Rhett had wondered if Link found the whole thing as anticlimactic as he'd found it, if he'd rather have been hanging out with Rhett the same way Rhett, twenty minutes into his own date with Leslie, started thinking about how he'd rather have been hanging out with Link, but he was _twelve_. Who at that age has any sort of control over the stupid thoughts they have?

It's not the same thing now, he realizes that. He's flipping through Netflix like he can't find a single thing worth watching when really his mind's stuck on what's happening with Link.

Because he's his best friend, and he's out with a freaking sleaze. Anyone else would be just as concerned.

Still. Rhett checks his phone just in case Link's sent out that S.O.S. text.

He does have a text, but it's from Stevie, asking him if he's a Trek sort of guy or a Wars.

Rhett ignores it, giving his attention to Netflix again. For all of two seconds. He gets to his feet, feeling ridiculous as soon as he's up, but once he's standing he recognizes how restless he's feeling, and what does a man do in times of boredom? Drink. A lot.

Rhett grabs a beer from the fridge -- then another one, as forethought -- and heads back for the couch, taking a long sip as he goes, instantly feeling relaxed.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

Two beers in, Rhett finds himself cooing at Larry, the cactus.

" _Hey there, buddy_ ," he greets it using the same tone of voice people usually reserve for things that can emote and reciprocate -- pets, people. Non-plants.

He's spritzing it with the water bottle they stash near its potted self as a reminder to keep it alive. So far Larry has survived college graduation, a cross-country trip, and L.A. smog. He's proud of the little guy.

Gregg was the one who declared Larry's sexual orientation. He gave the cactus to Rhett and Link both as a 'congrats on your new job, I'll kill you if you forget about me' going away present, amused that he was co-gifting to his two guy ex-roommates. As a joke, and with a lack of tact, he dubbed it 'gay,' the implication there that Rhett and Link were too. 

With a couple more misty sprays, Rhett keeps sweet-talking to it. "You're gonna teach Link all about bein' gay, aren't you? Yes you are, you're so good at it."

This goes on for a good ten minutes.

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

By the time he hears that Link's home, he's moved on to beer number three. He found something to watch. Life is good.

There's a dull thud against the apartment door, followed by the muffled sound of more than one voice. The doorknob rattles and Rhett lifts out of the slouch he's been in the past two hours, setting his mostly full bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of him.

Without his consent, his brain conjures up the visual he's done a pretty dang good job stifling all evening, of Link and Randy meeting mouth-to-mouth for that goodnight kiss. He swallows and feels sick to his stomach, and blames it on the alcohol.

Not that long after Rhett first heard him, Link comes strolling in, catching Rhett's stare halfway between closing the door and tossing his keys to the side table. He freezes, his face flying so fast through emotions Rhett can't keep up, but very quickly a teasing smirk takes over. Rhett can read that look just fine, and he feels taken down a peg or two by it.

"Aw. Waiting up on me?" Link mocks, holding a hand to his heart in a way that's meant to embarrass Rhett. He doesn't bother protesting since, yeah. It's pretty obvious that's what he's doing here.

The lack of banter throws Link off. He takes off his jacket, his brow furrowing. While he slips out of his shoes, lining them up next to Rhett's, he lifts his head to meet the stare Rhett's still trying to hold.

"What?" Link demands. Some hostility slips in, not masking what he's really feeling, and that's insecure. He leaps very quickly from one conclusion to the next. "You change your mind or something? Think I'm _weird_ now?" The way he says it, he might as well have asked if Rhett thinks he's an alien beamed down from Planet Spacecrack sent to impregnate men and women with their squid babies.

Before Rhett can get out the 'always' he figures is safe to joke, Link notices the beer bottle... and the two others left empty at Rhett's feet, and the fourth one he hadn't started working on.

"Seriously, Rhett? You gotta get drunk just to deal with--" He cuts himself off to hitch onto a new train of thought. "This is my issue, if that's what you want to call it. Get over yourself."

Link's heading for his bedroom, practically propelled there on a wave of self-righteous anger. Rhett climbs quickly to his feet, ignoring the head-rush that comes from his body overcompensating to send blood to a sudden and much higher elevation, cutting Link off before he can finish storming off.

"Rhett, I'm not joking, get outta the way."

Rhett puts himself right in Link's path, and he's a pretty big guy. Their hallway is small.

"Rhett," Link warns.

"Yeah, you're weird."

Link gives him such a wounded look. It lasts only seconds before he covers with a scowl and forces his way past.

"I meant--" Rhett turns and follows, trailing after Link. "Listen. Link. That came out wrong."

"Ya think?" Link snarks. He pushes into his bedroom, right away closing his door on Rhett, but Rhett's impressive limb span remains true; he manages to sneak a foot in, stopping the door from shutting. " _Rhett_ ," Link stews at him.

"Just listen for a sec! Calm down."

Rhett slips the rest of the way into Link's bedroom, met with a murderous stare from Link that gives him the idea he's got about two seconds to make things right or actual fists might be thrown.

"You're weird." Link opens his mouth to react right away, but Rhett could've told you that'd happen. He talks right over him, "I never said that was a bad thing. Don't get mad at me if you're the one interpreting it that way."

"How else am I supposed to? Given the context."

"I was joking!"

"Well, I had a surreal night, Rhett. I kinda wanted to come home and experience normal again."

That derails Rhett mentally. Less intent on arguing his innocence, now he wants to knows what Link means by that.

"And first thing I see is you drunk--"

"I had _three_ beers. You know it takes more than that to do anything. Look at me, I'm a freaking giant."

"Well, it implies somethin' I'm not sure I like." Off Rhett's silent demand for clarification, Link shrugs in a gesturing way. "You didn't want to see me sober. After my date."

"You gonna punch me if I joke I rarely want to see you sober? I'm kidding!" he defends right away, hands pulling up when Link lurches forward a step with his fists balled at his sides. Rhett laughs at the turn the night's taken, and then has to explain himself quick when Link only looks offended all over again. "I got lonely. Okay? So I had a beer that turned into two."

"Three," Link says stubbornly, just to push the issue.

"I'm drunk. I can't count." This time, Link does lean forward and slap at him, smacking him a few times across his bicep. "Okay, okay. Geez. Sorry. You get a little _frisky_ after your date--"

Rhett has to curl in protectively on himself when Link's slaps start to have actual physical intent to back them up.

"Go ahead, Rhett, get it all out. You got any other jokes?"

Rhett's still biting back a laugh, his arms pulled up protectively in front of him. "I'm sorry," he tells him, meaning it despite the light tone it comes out as.

Figuring that's as good of an apology as he's going to get, Link turns and heads for his dresser, pulling out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. When he turns back and sees Rhett is still there, he gives him a look.

"You plannin' on watching me change?"

That does what Link meant for it to -- it makes Rhett flush clear up from his chest to the tips of his ears. Embarrassment follows quickly after, but Link's not paying enough attention to catch it.

Turns out, you give a guy an option like that, no matter how crazy it is, his brain is going to legitimately consider it. And Rhett right now, a couple of beers in his system and still riding the ghost of misplaced jealousy, ain't exactly hating the idea of watching Link whip off his t-shirt, zip outta his pants, give his dick a sorry-for-trapping-you-so-tight-all-day consoling squeeze and underwear relocation...

"What?" Link's stopped to stare down at himself. "I got something on me--?"

"How'd it go," Rhett blurts. Link's head whips up fast, seeking clarification. Rhett feels that flush grow hotter. "With Randy."

There's something about Link's own sudden uncomfortableness that almost has the power to nuke Rhett's own. It's like: if they're feeling embarrassed individually, mutually it negates itself. That's science.

"Fine," Link tells him warily, but he's saying it off to the side, standing so Rhett can't make eye contact. Rhett's heart does a funny little leap at the word 'fine.' It lulls considerably when Link admits, "Weird."

"That a good or bad thing?" Rhett presses.

Link throws his clothes on top of his dresser in a fit of irritation, looking over again. "I don't know, Rhett. Can't it just be what it is? Why's it gotta be something else on top of that?"

"I mean, either you liked him or you didn't--"

"Well, I didn't."

That -- he likes the sound of that. He hears it the first time, and then hears it again when his brain replays it, only the second time around it's like it's gone through one of them voice processors, like the tone shifted and the inflection means something else now.

He asks, "Did he make a move on you?"

Link balks. "Geez, Rhett."

He didn't even know he was thinking anything like that until he said it, but now that it's out there, he might as well make sure.

"He didn't try anything, did he?"

"Or what, I'm _tainted_? Is that it? I'm _spoiled goods_?" Link's flashing his fingers around like the accusation couldn't be more outrageous, like Rhett would have to be dead-stupid for believing something like that -- but also, too, like underneath the incredulity, there's genuine hurt there.

" _No_ , man."

"Can you just leave already? I'm not trying to be an ass, I just think we oughta drop this."

Rhett's spent the whole night alone, and now he's amped up and feeling antsy. No, he doesn't want to leave, he wants details, he wants -- fine, you know what he wants? He wants reassurance that a night with Randy pales to a night with him, that Rhett's way better company, that their friendship is bigger and stronger than any of his other relationships could ever be, that if ever there was a choice between some other person and Rhett, Link's always going to choose him, and as he realizes these things one by one, he starts to feel something huge and heavy come over him, because what does it mean about him that he needs these things? There's normal jealous feelings (that time their freshmen year of college, for example, when Link went away for the summer and spent every phone call they managed talking about the fun stuff he was doing and the new friends he was making) and then there's what's inside him tonight, this _thing_ that's taking solid shape by the second.

He doesn't just need those things, he wants them. That's fine. But it's a little messed up that he wants very specifically for it to be Link he's getting them from. Not, like, a girl he meets and develops a thing for. He can close his eyes, picture a person by his side, and in every situation it's always going to be Link.

For the first time, he lets that image go from childhood adventures and hanging out at parties and camping antics, to slinging arms around one another different than friends do, to mouthing at Link's adam's apple and feeling it react to his touch, to getting in bed and getting undressed.

This is his midlife crisis, people, and he's only 26.

"Rhett," he hears, Link's voice calling him back to the moment, to himself again.

He looks at Link, really looks at him -- and nothing's changed. Same ol' slightly scraggly Link who didn't even bother to shave for his date because he didn't want it to seem like he was trying too hard, same ol' face he's stared at more than 75% of his whole freaking life. Only, he could kiss Link right now, and Link might sock him for it, but he could do it, he'd _want_ to do it, and the universe wouldn't glitch into some alternate dimension because of it.

"Alright. You're freaking me out, compadre. F'reals."

"I don't want to leave," he tells Link, and he hears it leave his mouth like a straight up revelation.

Link, though, hears it as something else entirely.

"Why're you always so bull-headed? I'm serious. You gotta win every argument--you always gotta be right, don't you? Like there's some score card you keep track of. You're always so--what? Quit lookin' at me like I'm being stupid, I'm trying to tell you-- _Rhett _\--__? _ _"__

Took him twenty years to figure it out, but the best way to shut Link up? Walk up and kiss him.

That's what Rhett does, and the way Link's eyes go saucer-wide the closer Rhett gets to him, well. Rhett's going to save that memory for a very long time, no matter how disastrously this turns out, because the second Link figures out Rhett's intent, the second that happens, it's like someone dragged Rhett to the edge of a very high ledge, gave him a push, and said 'go.' Exhilaration whips through him like wind during a North Carolina storm, scary and exciting, and he feels stunned for about three whole seconds before something even wilder happens: Link kisses him back.

Him and Link are kissing and the only regret he has it that they haven't been doing this for forever, because dang, there is an immediate spark of arousal that flares up like an oil fire.

Without breaking their kiss, Link laughs, just this side of hysterical, and he says, " _What_ ," in this high-pitched tone of incredulity. Right away, his hands come up to slide around the back of Rhett's head and draw him even closer, pressing a deeper kiss against his mouth, all bristling scruff and wet lips; that's saliva, it's Link's saliva he's got in his mouth now, and that ain't grossing him out it like it should.

His body's always been about twelve steps ahead of his brain in sexual situations, and that isn't any different here with Link; where Rhett's just starting to think ' _you know what, kissing Link is pretty awesome, cool that we're doing this now_ ,' his dick's lurching its way to the forefront, going, ' _yeah, but you know what'd be even more awesome? being touched_!' He's getting pretty hard pretty fast, pretty embarrassingly, and for all the ways he wants to take five to freak out privately and panic, he also wouldn't hate it if Link dropped to his knees and sucked him off.

Powered by the possibility of that, Rhett grips Link by the shoulders and twists them both. He means for it to be a tactical move toward the bed, but Rhett's charisma buckles under pressure fairly often; he trips over his own feet, and then trips over Link's. It breaks the kiss, of course, and with the loss of that physical connection, clarity comes rushing in so fast it's like watching a time-lapsed video of a flood. This is it, then. This is the swan dive off the deep end.

Only, Link ain't looking at him like he's thinking Rhett's a freak for kissing him in the first place, or awkward because already he's proving his bedroom skills to be overeager and lacking; he's looking at him like he can't believe Rhett's right there on the same page as him, like he isn't surprised at all, and big as that is, the vastness that it implies, Rhett kinda can't focus on anything other than the beard burn Link's mouth is already starting to sport.

More tentatively than things have been between them so far, Link moves toward Rhett to close the gap again, keeping it agonizingly slow like he wants Rhett to accept every second as a chance to bail out before they cross a line there's no coming back from. Rhett lets Link kiss him first this time, even though he feels like his heart might actually turn into its own separate, sentient life form and crawl its way out of his chest, taking off like a dude bailing for calmer, less life-altering waters. Then, he settles. He exhales right there against Link's mouth, lulled for just a second before being overwhelmed once more.

Blame it on a temporary blackout induced by lust, but somehow he gets pushed all the way onto Link's bed without having a clue he's moved locations until he's on his back, on the mattress, looking up as Link gets on all fours above him. He feels self-conscious and too angular, knows for certain his limbs are too long to be attractive, but Link's still looking at him like he's some porn magazine centerfold. Which -- that's something he has to compartmentalize right now, because if he starts going down that road, whatever's happening with him and Link is going to hit a red light, hard.

Link's smiling down at him. Rhett can sorta see, since he's looking, that Link's got a similar, far away disbelief to his stare, but he's still smiling, and it's about soft as Rhett remembers Link looking that time Rhett proposed they become blood brothers. That's one of his better memories, and recalling it now brings a new sense of surrealness to the evening.

Slowly, Link boxes Rhett in, creeping close.

"This okay?" he asks. His fingers are on Rhett's waistband, and there's just enough contact there Rhett's gotta talk himself outta doing something embarrassing, like rolling his hips forward to desperately seek out pressure. "Rhett?"

"Yes," he breathes out.

Link looks a couple seconds longer -- Rhett can only guess at the thoughts running through his head, but if they're anything similar to his own, he knows it's like having a singular brain cell constantly urging him to _act,_ to just do it.

Rhett's reminded of the first time he ever watched porn. How self-conscious he felt the whole time, even though he was alone in the house, in his own bedroom, the door locked for added security. He still felt like any second someone was going to bust in on him and catch him enjoying something that was associated, at the time, with being inappropriate. The VHS tape had come from Cole's room, found under his bed during a raid for a long-lost Nintendo game, but still. Knowing his brother had it hidden only added to the shock value. The porn itself was of a guy with a 90's mullet eating out a blonde girl who kept saying, 'yes, yes, _yes_ ' with her voice going up higher and higher. All this time later, he can still recall that, can remember scrambling for the remote at his side to dial the volume down even as he was jerking himself off.

It's like he's gone back in time, the way his heart is racing now, how similar the speed of it feels. He's definitely turned on, but it's almost like he's so turned on because part of him knows he's doing something he shouldn't be doing. Not that he's making a statement about guy-on-guy relationships, but: it's Link, his best friend in all the world, the person he knows better than anyone. He's seen Link pick his nose and flick the booger in the air. He's been in the bathroom after he's taken a dump. He's been subjected to Link leaving his forgotten dirty underwear on the floor after a shower. He's seen Link naked at least a dozen times before and has never thought to himself 'man, I oughta be touching that.' And now.

"You freaking out?" Link asks him, pulling back to give him some space. Rhett grips his wrist before he can take it away, making his feelings known.

He asks, "Are you?"

"Little bit. Yes," he admits. "Rhett. This is _crazy_ ," he laughs, and it's quiet but pitched high. Growing serious, he falls slowly forward, stopping only when he's close enough to kiss. Rhett's fingers are still wrapped tightly around his wrist. Link whispers, "You drunk?"

In spite of his racing heart, Rhett goes for the joke. He pretends to consider it.

Link huffs at him, catching on quick. "That so? Guess I could find out one way." With a flare of his eyes that teases imminent payback, Link slides down Rhett's body, forcing the release of his hand in the process. He sucks a spot on Rhett's neck Rhett's always been particularly sensitive to, right below the line where his beard ends. Only for a couple of seconds, and then Link's moving on, kissing Rhett's shoulder blade. He skips most of Rhett's chest, offering, instead, a grin that says ' _bet you wish you didn't taunt me, eh, buddyroll_?' when his lips graze close to one of Rhett's nipples and Rhett lurches up after him, seeking contact.

When Link hits Rhett's happy trail, Rhett has to drop his head to the mattress and stare up at the ceiling, contemplating life like some ancient philosopher, only instead of deep, revolutionary thoughts, his mind is racing in ways that ask, 'is it alright to come untouched first time a friend gets eye-level with your penis?'

"See," Link tells him; his voice is hoarse and strained-sounding. "I'm no doctor, but something tells me, you were drunk? It wouldn't be working so well right now."

'It' is a very general, though very pointed acknowledgment of Rhett's erection, which is tenting the basketball shorts he's wearing in ways that look insanely obscene from his angle; lord knows how it must look to Link, who's getting the aerial view, just a couple inches away.

When Rhett goes to touch himself, his hand gets shoved back down to the mattress, his arm pinned tightly against his body.

"Did I say we were touching?" Link asks him.

After some slight rearranging of their legs, he gets himself settled so he's straddling Rhett's thighs, and Rhett pretty much lets himself be manhandled into place, unwilling to break Link's hold or the shift of power.

Link's fingers are digging into Rhett's forearm. He probably doesn't even realize he's applying so much pressure; Rhett flexes his fingers, feeling the tingle go up and down his arm. Immediately his hand has begun sweating. That's something to be embarrassed about normally, something he usually tries to hide (nothing hotter than 'hey, baby, how you like my clammy hands?' mid-sex) but Link ain't making a sound about it, used to it as he is. That might be because he's too busy staring at Rhett's dick, though.

Forgetting that two seconds ago he played the 'I'm in charge' card, he peeks up at Rhett, a flush high up on his cheeks that looks, at first, like he's overheated. Then he asks, "Mind if I..." and from the way he trails off, Rhett knows that's a blush of embarrassment.

Crazy to think Link's got anything to be shy about, considering Rhett's the one on full display here. He's gotta assume Link's in a similar state as him, but he's still wearing his jeans from earlier -- they don't expose a whole lot as far as boners go.

Biting his lower lip into his mouth, Rhett lifts his head to give Link a nod of consent. They lock eyes and he swears he can hear the conversation they're not having out loud, inside his head.

It goes a little something like:  
  
Link: _'We really doing this?'_  
Rhett: _'Looks like.'_  
Link: _'K.'_  
Rhett: _'Yup.'_

Link doesn't let Rhett's hand free, even as he mouths at Rhett through his basketball shorts. It takes everything in him to stay still, though he does swear, a hushed ' _fuck_ ' falling out of his mouth like he's pledging his loyal servitude to the Gods of blowjobs.

Encouraged by it, and by the groan that follows, Link uses his mouth to guide Rhett's dick flat against his stomach; all he feels after that is Link's hot breath and the press of his tongue through the fabric. Very quickly, Rhett's shorts have a wet spot on the front, this patch of spit that goes from warm to cold.

Just as soon as Rhett slides his free hand around the back of Link's neck, his fingers tangling in the short hairs at his nape, Link's patience buckles; without a beat, he tugs Rhett's shorts, pulls them farther down on the right side than the left, but Rhett's dick is fully exposed, and that's enough for Link. He sucks the tip straight into his mouth, so fast Rhett has zero time to brace for what's about to happen. He'd like to have had a moment to send a silent prayer to those same blowjob Gods, asking that he please be granted the stamina of their brethren, amen, but before that thought can form, he's suddenly a guy living in a world where Link's sucking his dick. Anything even remotely resembling coherency fucks off fast, scattered like wisps of smoke.

Here's the thing: Rhett's experienced blowjobs before, obviously. Not so many that he's got a comprehensive list stored internally to debate best vs. worst, but enough that he can immediately tell a good one from a less-good one. This, he knows instantly, is a very good one. Maybe even the best one ever, and that's got nothing to do with technique. All Link's doing is letting Rhett's dick hang out in his mouth like he's making friends with it, and Rhett's gone, he's done for.

Eyebrows scrunching together, Link grabs Rhett's dick around the base to steady it, and sucks. The sudden suction has Rhett choking out noises that probably make him sound like a wounded animal, but he can't help it, they happen all on their own. Smiling -- craziest thing _ever_ that Rhett now knows Link's grin from the feel of it on his penis alone -- Link ups his efforts and starts bobbing his head in earnest, kind of like he's imitating all the blowjobs he's ever received without really knowing what he's doing. His inexperience is obvious, as is his desire to perform well, making it a mindfuck of pleasure; it's sloppy, yet at the same time, there's a rhythm there, one that Rhett catches onto. His hips start lifting off the bed, just a little, just so he can chase after Link every time Link sucks _up._

Too soon, Link pulls off, and Rhett watches his dick slide out of Link's mouth, sees this string of saliva and precome that gets stuck on Link's bottom lip, and he doesn't have time to do anything more than choke out, " _Link_ ," before he's coming.

If Link's weight wasn't pressing him down against the bed, no doubt, his back would be arched right now. But Link's there, so all he can do is grab a hold of Link's shoulder, his fingers bunching up his shirt, and ride out the waves until at last he's spent and relaxing bonelessly once more, his hand slowly unclasping.

Link pitches forward and kisses him, hard.

By the time his brain fully comes back on, it's to the realization that Link's rocking his hips against him, on the verge of his own orgasm. Rhett can feel how hard he is, and the rub of denim nearly has him coming all over again. Instead, he grabs a palmful of Link's jean-covered ass, tightens his hold to keep Link close. Those thrusts get smaller, jerkier. All the while, Link's still pinning Rhett's left hand to the bed, so much of his body weight braced on it that it's started to go numb.

With a groan, Link suddenly stills, then curls in towards Rhett until his nose is pressed against Rhett's neck. His hips roll forward once more, then stay, and Rhett knows Link's orgasm is hitting him by the grunted exhale that blows fever-hot against his throat.

Once Link collapses off to the side, finally releasing Rhett's arm, reality takes its sweet time returning.

There's no startling, follow-up epiphany that comes afterward, nothing that has him bolting out of bed, grasping at excuses and ready to deny.

Fact is, he's pretty sure he's already in love with Link, and has been for a very long time. That thought doesn't hit him out of nowhere or even shock him; it kinda just settles into place, a fact as natural and known as his own name.

Link rolls back over, hugging Rhett's side. With a sigh of content, he runs a hand tenderly up and down Rhett's chest. Rhett feels his whole entire sternum light up, and then he realizes -- no, what Link's actually doing is wiping Rhett's come off of him, he's using his t-shirt as a freaking napkin, making a face that lets the grossness known.  
  
"S'yours," Link defends.

Yeah, Rhett loves the idiot. Confirmed.

 

 

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

 

For the hundredth ( _thousandth_ ) time, Rhett curses when his key sticks in their apartment door's lock. Of all the days to be late; morning handjobs in the shower are awesome and all, but it threw them off their schedule. They probably won't even have time to stop for coffee before work.

"You get it?" Link asks at his side, just as Rhett jiggles the key free. His grin is more boastful than affirming, and Link reacts to it with an eye roll. "I love how smug you get over locking a door. Good job, Rhett."

"Hey, man, be sarcastic as you like. I don't care. I'm a freaking knob genius."

"Mmm, _yeah, you are_ ," Link agrees, flirty and dirty with the innuendo piled on high.

They wind up being three minutes later than they already were, after Rhett shoves Link against their door and makes out solidly with him until the phone in his back pocket starts buzzing with a text, a reminder that the world outside is calling for their attention.

Link's the one who strolls forward like it was him who pulled away first. He only goes a few steps before glancing back at Rhett with a smile that has Rhett quick to follow.

Link's hand slides into his.

Rhett doesn't even _think_ about letting go.  
  


//  
  


the end

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cheat, because I wrote a lot of this before the 'fake married/pretend relationship' prompt hit tumblr. It did inspire me to finish, though, so thanks!


End file.
